[vi notes the twitch, but doesn't know what to make of it - if anything. she doesn't move quickly - as she has to disengage her hands for that. and maybe in some cases you just shrug off someone's gesture of friendship (?) vulnerability (?) a t t r a c t i o n (??!) - like water off one's back but that feels disrespectful, an abrupt tonal shift that might send a message of didn't see that or whatever. she's not sure what's happening, but she's very sure she doesn't want to imply it means nothing, so she lightly squeezes saeri's hand before she pulls back. a half turn toward the curtain because there's nothing much of note tattoo-wise on the front of her besides her cheek. the gears on her neck have been visible near always, and can still mostly be seen when she moves.
sansa's construction of the tunic has allowed for it to slip on and off easily, which vi is appreciative of in general, but maybe not as much in this moment. all she has to do it reach up and unclasp the metal fastening at the back and it falls - fine, it's an ode to her non subtlety - dark lines leading to interconnected machinery and outward, downward into gears at her shoulders, her back. puffs of cloudy lined interspersed between them - clusters at the elbow and and long lines down the backs of her arms. more steam, more smoke, more toxic gas (something else?) as if pressure were being both held and released. as if her spine were made of steel. arms, too.]
Mine doesn't do anything fancy, but it's a bitch to make a straight line with no mirror half the time, and it's not like there's a way to erase it if you fuck it up, but...
[time to offer up her own bit of vulnerability.]
...I didn't do it just to look cool. I did it to remember who I was. Who I wanted to be.
...where I came from.
Who I was fighting for.
[she taps her cheek just below the VI, there.]
To tell them I wasn't prisoner five-one-six and never would be. Not really. If they were that set on beating the shit out of me, at least they could put a name and not a number to my face.
no subject
sansa's construction of the tunic has allowed for it to slip on and off easily, which vi is appreciative of in general, but maybe not as much in this moment. all she has to do it reach up and unclasp the metal fastening at the back and it falls - fine, it's an ode to her non subtlety - dark lines leading to interconnected machinery and outward, downward into gears at her shoulders, her back. puffs of cloudy lined interspersed between them - clusters at the elbow and and long lines down the backs of her arms. more steam, more smoke, more toxic gas (something else?) as if pressure were being both held and released. as if her spine were made of steel. arms, too.]
Mine doesn't do anything fancy, but it's a bitch to make a straight line with no mirror half the time, and it's not like there's a way to erase it if you fuck it up, but...
[time to offer up her own bit of vulnerability.]
...I didn't do it just to look cool. I did it to remember who I was. Who I wanted to be.
...where I came from.
Who I was fighting for.
[she taps her cheek just below the VI, there.]
To tell them I wasn't prisoner five-one-six and never would be. Not really. If they were that set on beating the shit out of me, at least they could put a name and not a number to my face.